


Wayward Youth

by facetofcathy



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: 100-1000 Words, Alternate Universe, Community: mcsmooch, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-22
Updated: 2008-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-03 05:19:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facetofcathy/pseuds/facetofcathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the John's Bar universe, a land of perpetual sunshine and lube where Rodney's a columnist with a Thursday deadline, and John owns a bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wayward Youth

Thursday night, so Rodney should be here.   He should have been here hours ago, before closing.  John set another empty Anchor Steam bottle on the bar and grimaced as a soft, sorrowful country song started playing on the jukebox.  He was not in the mood for soft and sorrowful, so he crossed the floor, reasonably steady still after six beers.   He didn't even like Anchor Steam, that was Rodney's beer.  John leaned on the jukebox, punched a code, and a very different kind of song blared out of the speakers.  John listened for a minute, looked down at his usual pants and tee-shirt and grinned a slow, wicked grin.   He checked to make sure the door was locked before he pounded upstairs to change.

* * *

  
Rodney huffed out some more frustration as he parked his car behind John's bar.  The lights were all off upstairs, so John hadn't waited up for him.   Rodney fished out his keys and opened the back door.  The hallway was lit by a meager glow.   Rodney kept after John to upgrade the lighting, but John was not one to make a move before he was good and ready.   The door to the bar at the far end of the hall was outlined in amber light, and Rodney frowned at it.   He frowned even harder at the loud music that pulsed through the thin slab of wood.  "I know that song," Rodney said out loud.   He didn't need to worry that anyone could ever hear him over the music.   "That's Depeche Mode? Good lord, has John been burgled by eighties fans?"  Rodney could hear some thumping from beyond the door, so he bravely snuck up and pushed the door open until he had a half-inch crack to peer through.   Rodney stared at the apparition in the bar for a moment and then boldly flung the door open and strode through.

John was bouncing around the empty bar in some loose-limbed flailing style of dance that no man should ever witness.  His usual bar uniform of black cargoes and nicely tight tee-shirt had been traded in for something that looked similar, but on closer inspection, really, really wasn't the same at all.   The tee-shirt was very tight and seemed to be sporting a few small rips in strategic places.  The black pants had some very large rips in some very strategic locations.   John essayed a bouncing manoeuvre that bore no resemblance to any dance step Rodney knew and landed face to face with Rodney.  John stuttered to a halt, and Rodney watched in fascination as his face flushed pink and his ears achieved a truly impressive shade of red.  Rodney wanted to touch them to see if they were hot.

"Rodney," John said and glared at the jukebox for a second.  "You came, you're here, you saw me."

Rodney laughed at John's doom laden tones, and John glared at him for two seconds.  The music changed to an even louder song, Rodney thought it might be Echo and the Bunnymen, and John marched over and lowered the volume.  Rodney got a good look at the back view of what had to be John's own wardrobe, circa 1985, and spent a moment cursing the man for being able to wear the same pants at age forty that he'd worn at seventeen.  It was hard to keep the envy fires stoked though when he realized-  "John, are you wearing camouflage briefs under those pants?"

John turned around and waved a hand in the air.  "It's a thing."

"It was a thing twenty years ago."

"Well, maybe I felt like reliving my youth, you know since it's Thursday and I was all alone."  John pouted at him and then stalked back across the room and grabbed a couple of handfuls of Rodney's shirt.  "I was hit on by a blonde.  For two hours.  You weren't here to protect me."

"Poor baby," Rodney said.  "I did call you and tell you I was going to be late."  He let his hands drop like feathers onto John's hips and slid them around and back and down, seeking ingress.   The really rather large rip in the ass of the pants made ingress very easy.   Rodney quickly had his hands full of camouflage covered ass.   "So this youth of yours, it wasn't a bit wayward was it?"

"Maybe," John said, still sounding sulky.

"Hmmm," Rodney said and smiled slowly.  "I always wanted one of those.  I spent my youth in the lab, you see."

"Poor baby."

"Yes well, it occurs to me I have a wayward youth all to myself right here."

"Yeah, you do."  John smiled a dirty little smile.

Rodney smiled, maybe a little bit smugly, and kissed his wayward youth until they were both panting.  "I'm sorry I wasn't here to protect you."

"You should be, it was very traumatic.  You should be here always."   John flushed again, maybe not so drunk he didn't realize what he was saying.

Rodney tried very hard to pretend to be calm.  "Ask me again in the morning when you're hung over and trying to remember how you got those bruises on your ass."

"What bruises?" John said with another dirty grin, just as Rodney pinched him hard.


End file.
